


In Over His Head

by abstractconcept



Series: Naked Baron [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-27 02:30:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke takes one step back. It may have been one step too many.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Over His Head

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Naked Baron series, in which I sneak in a reference to the nudist Baron next door so people can recognize my fics, lol.
> 
> Written for the kink meme prompt: In armor, Hawke would be sunk, literally. No way for him to swim in plate.
> 
> So I'd like a fic where during any one of their many stints to the docks, Hawke gets knocked into the water during battle.
> 
> Oh, they fish him out before he's too far gone. (no death fic, please) But I'd love to see panicked companions trying to rescue him, then taking care of him in the aftermath. Classic, shameless H/C.

The Qunari’s pommel hit Hawke square in the chest, knocking the wind from his body. He stumbled back, hands outstretched. Hawke felt the empty space yawning behind him, felt himself overbalancing. There was absolutely nothing he could do.

Hawke had one split second to think, _Of all the days to be fighting without a mage at my back!_

The splash was absolutely incredible. He could see the blue sky above him, and Fenris’ face, eyes wide, framed by the spray of water. He saw the elf’s lips form his name, but he couldn’t hear it, because the water suddenly closed over his head, and then he could see nothing but the bubbles streaming upward from his armor.

 _I’m going to die,_ he thought in disbelief. Not a warrior’s death, in fierce battle, but drowning. Because of _stepping back an inch too far!_ He could barely fathom it. Even as he gurgled in panic, some small part of him thought, _Varric would have made a terrible pun out of that._

He struggled mightily, arms and legs thrashing, but the water sucked at him, embracing him like a jealous mistress who would not let go.

_He was going to die._

Already the pressure on his lungs was great; they were screaming for air. No one could possibly come after him; Varric didn’t swim, and Fenris and Aveline were both wearing heavy armor, the same as him.

_He was going to die._

Hawke felt himself touch bottom, gently, slowly. His body gave up and tried to breathe, but something was already yanking him up. He gagged, coughed up a great deal of water, sure that he was going to die anyway, that he’d never get his wind back. Arms were all around him, holding his sagging body out of the water.

 _— no magic—_ he heard someone crying, shouting voices in all directions. _–no magic, we’ve got to do— help, here, get him— do something—_

Someone dragged him half out of the water and threw him down. That was helpful. Then they braced their hands on either side of his face. Hawke looked up at Fenris, his lungs still struggling with the waterlog.Fenris took a deep breath and leant forward, pressing his mouth to Hawke’s. A rush of air expanded Hawke’s lungs.

And then Fenris pulled away, and Aveline jumped in, a determined look on her face, and compressed Hawke’s chest.

Then Fenris tilted his head back again, and Hawke succumbed to this quite willingly. He spit up an alarming amount of brackish water.

After a few goes at this, he was only feeling halfway dead—an astounding improvement.

“Give him a potion!” he heard Varric command.

Hawke tried to wave it away, but a potion was pressed to his mouth and he managed to get some of it down. To his surprise, he did feel better. He made an effort to get to his feet, Fenris helping all the way.

“Are you all right?”

Hawke couldn’t help but smile through his cough. Fenris was white with shock, knee deep in the water with him, both arms wrapped tightly around Hawke’s waist. “Thanks,” Hawke choked out.

Fenris scowled. “Instead of thrashing about like an imbecile, you might have just _stood up,”_ he pointed out.

Hawke looked down in surprise. The top of the water reached his thighs. “I thought it was deeper than that,” he said.

“The tide is out,” Fenris told him.

“How do you feel, Hawke?” Aveline asked, her face a picture of concern.

“Like fish crap,” Hawke told her curtly. He tried to climb out of the water, but his boots were filled with water, surprisingly heavy, and he staggered and nearly fell over.

“Oh, damn. This is worse than the time you got drunk at the Hanged Man and I had to hire three men to help me get you home,” Fenris grumbled.

“You could try showing your supposed lover a little compassion,” Aveline snapped.

“Stop it,” Hawke said immediately. Possibly he was the only one who knew Fenris well enough to understand that the elf wasn’t the least bit angry with him—he was upset that Hawke was hurt. He was worried. He felt things had got beyond his control, and he always lashed out when that happened. There was, in truth, no surer way of knowing that Fenris loved him than when he got this ridiculously protective over Hawke. It was simply Fenris’ nature, though of course Hawke would have had a hard time explaining all this to Aveline, especially since he was still coughing up nasty water.

But Aveline, too, seemed to understand this was no time for discussions. Her face softened. “Anyway, I think you and I can manage him,” she told Fenris.

To Hawke’s embarrassment, Aveline grabbed his feet while Fenris took him under the arms. “Count of three?” Fenris said.

“What about Varric?” Hawke said desperately, hoping Varric could get him a litter or a mage or hire several Qunari to carry him home in style or something.

“I’m here, Hawke,” Varric said. “I’m just taking notes.”

“What?” Hawke replied as Fenris and Aveline began to haul him home like an especially undignified sack of turnips.

“Someone has to do it. I’m going to take notes of how Fenris leapt into the smelly water and tenderly fished you out before yelling at you. Then Aveline, who is devoted as a sibling, helped carry your waterlogged body home for recuperation.”

Hawke grunted. His chest hurt.

“And then you and Fenris had wild sex all over the mansion as a way of keeping you warm and staving off disease. But I haven’t written that bit, yet.”

Aveline and Fenris paused just long enough to scowl at him.

“Oh, _all right._ And then you and Fenris went home and lit candles and homeopathic incense and curled in your large, warm bed, where he held you and helped you through your terrible illness with the strength of his love.”

“Better,” Aveline said.

“ _Better!?”_ Fenris squawked. “Are you _insane?_ ”

“No incense,” Hawke begged. The very thought of it made his cough even worse.

“No, of course not,” Fenris told him, stroking his hair. “The very idea.”

“Just cuddling would be nice,” Hawke said.

Fenris groaned. “Let’s just get you home before you start to rust,” he said.

 

***

  
Hawke’s cough did not get better. It turned into whatever foul disease coughs do when they go untreated. And no one was around to treat it, as Merril had taken a holiday with Isabella on her ship, and Anders had been called away to do some emergency healing in the Deep Roads, taking Carver and Sebastian. No one was going to be back for at least another day or two. Hawke was just going to have to hang in there.

There was a gentle knock at the door.

Hawke coughed a ‘come in.’

Fenris arrived, scowling. “You should be asleep,” he fretted.

“Can’t,” Hawke told him.

“Why not?”

Hawke nodded to the window. “Baron de Girard has been walking around naked again with the curtains open. Every time I shut my eyes, I can see it. I’m afraid I’ll have nightmares,” he rasped. “A naked Baron de Girard is not conducive to convalescence.”

Fenris bristled. “I’ll have a talk with him,” he said, glowing slightly, a murderous look in his eye.

“Or you could just shut the curtains.”

“Oh. Yes.” Fenris did so and came over and sat on the bed beside Hawke. He was holding a steaming bowl of something.

“What’s this?”

“It’s an Orlesian noodle soup,” Fenris said. “It has minor curative properties. Or so I’m told.”

“Thank you,” Hawke told him. Fenris lifted the spoon to Hawke’s mouth. Hawke looked at him in surprise. “I can lift my own spoon,” he said, amused. “I’m not that far gone.”

“I was only trying to help.” Fenris gave him a sulky look.

“Aren’t you sweet? I’ll let you clean out the bedpan later if you’re really desperate for something to do,” Hawke teased.

“I’ll pass,” Fenris said sourly.

Hawke managed about half the bowl before he started to get drowsy. Fenris set the bowl on the bedside table, then crawled in beside Hawke. “Need anything else?”

Hawke shook his head slightly. “Just you.”

Fenris stroked his head, which only made Hawke sleepier. “Veshnira roth fassnen,” Fenris sang, or something very like, considering Hawke wasn’t familiar with the language.

“That’s lovely,” he murmured. “What does it mean?”

“Er . . . it’s about a woman in love with a sailor, who then leaves her because he loves the sea more. Sorry, I couldn’t really think of anything else, and I thought there was a certain romance to the story.”

“Mmm. Varric would say doomed romances are the only ones worth telling,” Hawke noted.

“Perhaps, but I prefer the kind where they warm each other’s bed until a ripe old age.”

Hawke smiled and rested his head on the elf’s shoulder. “Having you here and petting me is almost worth being sick.”

 

***

  
That evening came a fever. Hawke could barely think straight. He felt alternately sweaty and overheated, and chilled to the bone. During one of the hot spells he made the mistake of stumbling over to the window and opening it.

He gave a great shudder. “For _Maker’s sake_ , Baron, don’t you know I’m _already_ ill?” he shouted out the window.

The shouting drew Varric. “Come here,” he said. “I’ll tuck you in for the night and read you a bedtime story.”

“Don’t do that,” Hawke said weakly. “I’m already having problems sleeping. Everywhere I look I see naked Barons marching up and down the room.”

“That’s even better than some of my yarns,” Varric said, but Hawke saw he was worried and allowed the dwarf to lead him back to the bed.

Hawke settled back against the pillows, shivering. “What are you doing here?”

“Playing nursemaid while Fenris is buying potions,” Varric said cheerfully.

“I’d rather have Fenris.” Hawke writhed and squirmed until he’d gotten comfortable in the nest of blankets. “He should be here,” he pouted, aware he was acting like a four year old. But fuck it, if you’re not entitled to act like a selfish pig when you’re dying of some disease, when _are_ you entitled to act like a selfish pig?

“Don’t be an ass,” Varric said. “You know damn well he cares. You should have seen the look on his face when you went under. I thought he was about to cry.”

Hawke harrumphed. “He was the one who pointed out it wasn’t three feet deep where I fell in.”

“I don’t think he knew that at the time. Certainly not judging by the look of panic on his face when he saw you tip over. And while it wasn’t deep, it was . . . opaque,” Varric pointed out. “Once you slipped under the surface, you were _gone. I_ didn’t have any idea how deep it was, and I don’t think he did either. And he just leapt in after you, with no thought to himself. If you were going down, he’d have gone down with you.” After several moments, something cool was spread on Hawke’s forehead. “He’d have gone after you, wherever it led,” Varric said. “I think he loves you, Hawke.”

Hawke wasn’t sure. Fenris had never said it, not in so many words. Hawke didn’t want to press; the elf was skittish, and the last thing Hawke wanted was to drive him away again.

The bedroom door opened. “I got more potions.” Fenris sounded flustered.

Hawke half sat up, looking at Fenris beseechingly. Fenris set the bags aside and sat beside him. Hawke rested his head in Fenris’ lap, while Fenris petted him. “He needs his compress changed,” the elf mumbled.

“I’ll do that,” Varric said, getting up and going to the bucket of cool water.

Hawke’s head lolled. The room was spinning and he ached all over. Fenris’ cool, slim hands caress his face.

Varric returned, handing the elf the compress. “I know you don’t want to, but one of the mages from the circle could probably—”

“Fine,” Fenris said curtly, cutting the dwarf off.

“What?” Varric asked.

Fenris’ lips were pinched. He looked very worried. But his hands were very gentle, and Hawke felt safe, if dizzy.

“I _hate_ mages,” Fenris admitted. “But it’s Hawke’s _life_. I’ll go, at daybreak, and petition to have one come heal him.” Fenris removed the compress and dipped it in the cold water again, then wrung it out and replaced it. It felt so nice and cool on Hawke’s hot face.

“Well. I’ll leave you two kids alone,” Varric said. “I’ve got enough to write a great little story about a dashing warrior who gets hurt and the devoted elf who stays by his side and comforts him.”

“Maker, _why?_ ” Hawke demanded. “What do you get out of this?”

“Well, there’s this Antivan noblewoman,” Varric explained. “She pays me in chickens.”

“You’d sell out your dearest comrades for chickens?” Fenris replied.

“They’re very good chickens,” Varric told him haughtily. He got his crossbow off the mantle and headed out. “Say goodnight, Bianca,” he said.

After he’d gone, Fenris changed Hawke’s compress. “You’re an impetuous, stubborn, stupid pig,” he said. “And you drive me mad.”

Hawke nuzzled him. “I love you, too.”

Fenris kissed his forehead. “If you don’t get well soon I’m really going to have to hurt you,” he said.

 

***

  
The mage sent was a young elf, a frightened-looking girl accompanied by a templar. Even though the templar was plainly resolute in his duties, Fenris paced about like a caged cat, one hand on his sword at all times.

Hawke was coughing up blood. He hadn’t known pain like this before. The only time he had ever hurt worse was the night Fenris left him.

“Fen—” he managed before another cough interrupted.

“I’m here.” Fenris circled the mage to get to Hawke’s side without having the woman at his back. “What do you need?”

Hawke looked up at him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Fenris looked at him as if he were mad. “Oh, you’re _right_ , what was I thinking?” he said sarcastically. “I’ll just let you die, then.”

Hawke smiled weakly. “I just want to be sure.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Fenris snapped. “Yes, I want to do this. And yes, for the record, it’s because I love you. And for pity’s sake, I _forbid_ any of you to tell the mage.”

“What?” the elf-girl said, looking confused.

“Not you,” Fenris grumbled.

Varric, sitting nearby, laughed a little. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Blondie you’re a big sappy romantic.”

“Who cares about _that?_ “ Fenris responded. “I just don’t want anyone telling I’m a hypocrite who went running to beg for magic the first time I found something I couldn’t fix myself.”

“I should heal your friend,” the mage finally interrupted. “He’s getting weaker by the moment.”

This seemed to take the fight right out of Fenris. “Yes, please,” he mumbled.

The mage sat on the bed and covered one of Hawke’s hands with her own. A lovely blue glow sprang up, but even as the strength flowed into Hawke’s body. The girl waved her other hand over Hawke’s body, drawing out the sickness.

Hawke gasped—he’d forgotten how good it felt to _breathe_. “Thank you,” he said. He felt impossibly strong, healthy, almost invulnerable.

The girl stood, smiling warmly. “You’re welcome.”

“You look better. How do you feel? You’re not as pale.” Fenris put a hand on Hawke’s forehead, then pressed his lips to the same spot, checking his temperature. “I don’t feel any fever. Do you feel warm? Any chills?”

Hawke laughed and gently pushed Fenris away so he could sit up. “I feel _fine_ ,” he said. “Wonderful, in fact. Thank you again,” he added to the mage and templar.

The mage curtsied. “We should be getting back to the tower,” the templar put in.

“You don’t have to drag her back to the tower the moment she’s finished,” Fenris growled, surprising Hawke. “She isn’t doing anything wrong.” Apparently he was warmer to this mage than most now that she’d saved Hawke’s life.

The templar blinked. “That isn’t it. It’s just that Rosalind needs to eat and rest after performing such a taxing spell.”

“Oh. I . . . oh.”

“What do we owe you?” Hawke asked, digging a coin purse out of a drawer by the bedside table.

“After all you’ve done for us already, champion?” Rosalind said, eyes shining. “It was my honor.”

Hawke shook her hand, and the templar’s. “Well . . . again, thank you.”

Fenris shook the templar’s hand as well, then looked at Rosalind awkwardly. “Yes, um . . .” he shifted from one foot to the other. “Thank you,” he finally muttered, taking her hand, briefly bowing and kissing it. “Thank you very much.”

“Ha ha; blackmail material for _years_ ,” Varric noted gleefully.

“Oh, shut up.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Hawke said. “If Anders finds out you’ve kissed a mage, he’ll want one too? Honestly, he’ll just be happy to know you were reasonable and open-minded.”

Fenris gave Hawke a doubtful look. “ _Don’t_ tell him,” he warned.

Hawke sighed. “Very well.” He turned to the mage and templar. “I’ll walk you out.”

“No need,” Varric said. “I’ll take care of them.” He led the pair to the door and Hawke knew they’d be very well taken care of indeed. At the very least they’d probably be able to walk through the docks at midnight for the next several years with complete impunity.

After they’d left, Fenris closed the bedroom door and looked at Hawke with concern. “Are you _really_ feeling entirely cured?”

Hawke grinned. “Come over here and let me show you just how cured I am,” he answered.“You’re sure?” Fenris asked skeptically.

“I’m completely well,” Hawke assured him. “Test me,” he teased, arms open. There was a long moment when he wasn’t sure Fenris would go for it; the elf was still, stiff, uncertain. Hawke knew it could go either way. Fenris was always capable of spinning on his heel and walking off, but then he could also go from composed to desperately passionate in the time it took to gasp.

Fenris smiled crookedly, then pounced like a cat. Hawke caught him as Fenris kissed him ferociously. As Fenris’ legs wrapped around his waist, Hawke moaned into the elf’s open mouth.

There were a number of things Hawke would have liked to say, starting with, “Yes, please,” “Maker above,” and, especially, “ _More_ ,” but he hadn’t the breath to say them, and his mouth was otherwise occupied at any rate.

Fenris broke the kiss just long enough to growl, “ _Bed_.”

Hawke was not about to argue with this impeccable logic. He merely spun and made his way to the bed. It took a few moments to disentangle Fenris from his body, in part because Fenris was very strong and if he did not want to, say, loosen the fist he had tangled in Hawke’s hair, well, there wasn’t much Hawke could do about it. It was also hard because Hawke loved having Fenris’ lean thighs wrapped around him so intimately; he couldn’t bring himself to try to disengage them.

He compromised by throwing them both down on the bed. Fenris clanged a bit, because of all the armor.

“I guess I should take this off,” the elf said. He gave Hawke a slow, smouldering smile, the kind that made Hawke have to gulp for air. They looked at each other for a moment before Hawke tackled him again.

Four hands worked feverishly, undoing buckles and clasps, getting in each other’s way, wiggling metal bits loose, rucking and wriggling Hawke’s silk shirt up off over his head. In no time, they were both nearly nude, mussed and flushed, and grinning rather stupidly at one another.

“That was fun,” Hawke opined.

The corner of Fenris’ mouth twitched in amusement. “Simple minds, simple pleasures,” he said as haughtily as he could manage, considering his static-influenced hair was standing pretty much straight up in places from all the friction and effort.

Hawke traced the elf’s body with his eyes. “Well, we’re getting down to the simple bits now,” he said. He gave Fenris a sly look. “We’re right down to the bone, aren’t we?”

“Not quite,” Fenris growled. He peeled off his smalls, eliciting a shaky breath of anticipation from Hawke.

“Beautiful,” Hawke said. He reached out to put a hand on Fenris’ knee; Fenris had already begun drawing them together. He could be very self-conscious sometimes. “Can’t I touch you?” Hawke asked earnestly.

“I’d rather touch you,” Fenris murmured. “I’ve spent the last few days taking good care of you. Let me do it just a little more.”

How could Hawke say no to that? He gestured to himself generously, letting Fenris know that Hawke would accept absolutely anything Fenris wanted. He spread his own legs invitingly, and Fenris dropped between them, looking pleased with himself.Hawke sucked in a great, shaky breath as Fenris kissed the inside of this thigh. The elf’s mouth was so hot, so tender.

“This is what I wanted,” Fenris hissed. “You give me everything. And sometimes I just—I want to give you—I _can_ give you this,” he mumbled against Hawke’s flesh.

Hawke went from ecstatic to _words could not describe_ as Fenris sucked his prick. It was like an out of body experience. Maybe even like seeing Andraste or something. And it wasn’t just the sex; it was the vulnerability, the intimacy, of looking into Fenris’ eyes.

Hawke arched, his body taking over. His hips pistoned, fingers trembling against Fenris’ face. It would quickly be too much for Hawke. But Fenris did not hesitate; he increased his ministrations with a passion, sucking and swallowing Hawke’s stiff, aching erection.

Hawke _wanted_ to ask if this was all right, if it was too much, if he should hold back, but all he managed to grind out was, “ _Fenris._ ”

And Fenris ran a gentle hand up his thigh and cupped his balls, and made eye contact, saying without words, “ _Yes_.”

Hawke came. And came, and came, feeling as though his lifeforce were being drained. He even felt a base rush of smugness as he saw the seed drip from the corner of Fenris’ mouth.

But then he felt nothing but tired.

He didn’t wake again until the next morning, surprised to find himself clean and watched. Fenris sat nearby, a possessive hand stroking his hair. Anders was seated nearby, looking at him intently.

“He’s waking up!” The mage announced with excitement.

“Ten more minutes, please, mother,” Hawke groaned, rolling onto his stomach.

“I _told_ you not to disturb him,” Fenris growled. “He needs his rest!”

“Did the sleepy-head wake up?” Hawke heard Varric inquire. “He’s been asleep for a whole day. Not healthy. You’re coddling him too much. You should make him get up and come down and play a nice, invigorating hand of Wicked Grace.”

“ _Not likely_ ,” Fenris grumped.

He was _very_ protective today.

“What happened, anyway? Fenris won’t tell me a thing,” Anders said.

“I can tell you,” Varric volunteered. Fenris bristled. They looked at each other tensely. “It starts with the elf’s dramatic, selfless rescue of his one, true love,” Varric said with a laugh. “And it only gets worse from there, I’ve got to warn you.”

“Ugh. This isn’t going to be a kissing story, is it?” Anders asked, pained.

“Kissing all over the place,” Varric told him. “See, there was a bit of a tussle with the Qunari, and Hawke got dumped over the rail at the docs. Ker- _splash._ Coupled with an elegant little gurgle and some bubbles, naturally. So Fenris decides life isn’t worth living without him, and jumps in too. And then . . .”

“And then _what?_ ” Fenris challenged, scowling ferociously.

“Well, I suppose if you’re old enough to do it, you’re old enough to hear about it,” Varric said. “See, Fenris took him home and stripped off his clothes and—”

“Please,” Anders begged. “Can’t we skip that bit?”

“What? I’m just saying that Hawke had a bit of a fever and the elf gave him some totally innocent cold water baths and fed him some potions and made him better, that’s all,” Varric said, a faux look of hurt on his face.

Anders rolled his eyes, but Hawke saw Fenris’ shoulders relax. His secret was safe. “It’s true,” Hawke put in. He made googly eyes at the elf. “He was _my hero,_ ” he added in a syrupy voice.

Fenris harrumphed.

Anders groaned and waved this unlikely tale away. “Whatever. I’m glad Hawke’s doing better. But really—stick to soft porn and police procedurals,” he advised Varric. “This sort of thing stretches belief too far.”

Fenris didn’t say anything as Anders flounced off and Varric followed him spluttering about a mighty rescue and a devastating illness and brilliant strategizing and a dashing elf who would not take no for an answer.

After the door shut behind them, Fenris looked at Hawke and snorted. “Imbeciles.”

Hawke turned back the covers and grinned widely. “And they all lived happily ever after?” he suggested.

Fenris looked at him for a long moment before crawling into bed with the man. “Close enough, anyway.”


End file.
